Monday, February 06, 2017

I have this new thing--I have a lot of new things--which is that I play the piano, and often sing, every day. I tried working on classical pieces I already knew, like Bach preludes or Mendelssohn Songs Without Words; I tried learning new classical pieces, like Debussy's Arabesque No. 1; but I just wasn't getting anywhere. It seems this isn't a self-improvement project so much as a meditative exercise, or even just plain play. So now I wander into the room with the piano after my yoga class and my Pavlovian post-yoga cold brew (or earlier if the school bus or laziness causes me to miss yoga class) and I play whatever strikes my fancy, based on what I dreamed about, or a thing I heard that reminded me of a thing that reminded me of another thing.Today, as every so often since I first bought it seven years ago, I was playing Carole King's "Tapestry" from the album of the same name. I remember my father throwing "Tapestry" idly on the turntable about ten years after the album came out, commenting that it was as good as a Hits of the 60s compilation because of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" "You've Got A Friend," and "Natural Woman." I liked those, but I also loved "So Far Away," "Home Again" (which I used as an audition piece in front of a bewildered production team for a summer "Pirates of Penzance"), and especially the title song.I listened to that album so many times, for so many hours, on the rust-colored corduroy couch in my parents' dimly-lit living room. Sometimes I softly crooned to myself, sometimes I pored over the album cover, most times I just listened, and then from time to time I jumped up and went into the yellow shag-carpeted study to turn the record over and drop the needle again. I miss self-returning arms; our current turntable doesn't have one. Sometimes I worry that my kids didn't get this kind of utterly wasted, lazy yet intense time with anything. Where was the rest of my family? (I do dimly recall a voice telling me to turn a light on) Wasn't there something I should have been doing? (I know, know, going outside and getting some fresh air). Anyway, when I looked at that album cover, I saw something I recognized, and more that I wanted.It still looks very familiar, apart from the fact that my hair will never have body or wave: the bare feet, the jeans, the any old sweater, the somewhat boho decor, the tabby cat, check check check check check. Okay, if I were working on a tapestry it would be in a bag under a table in the living room for months, not in my hands, BUT I'm not posing for an album cover.I had a vague fantasy, a very vague fantasy, as I listened to "Tapestry" that I would one day have a cabaret act in which I sang the album in its entirety, and I would wear (memory reels, even confined to the interior realm) a dress with an actual tapestry panel on its blousey front. What a very early-80s dress that would have been. My act has not come to pass. I am, though, weaving my tapestry, singing my song, with writing; and I'm getting glimpses of those things that intrigued me before seventh grade obliterated everyone's real self for a while.One last note, about notes: I know every one on this album, played by every instrument. Pop sheet music is often heartbreaking, partly because pop isn't always piano-based, but also because transcribers don't seem to care about helping you recreate album sound. The Hal Leonard "Tapestry" book sounds just like the album. It is a joy, and if you use this affiliate link to buy it, you won't be sorry. Pick up the album, too.

Friday, February 03, 2017

Sorry, I've become a little obsessed with the Mary Tyler Moore show in the past week. I think I imprinted on Mary Richards in my extreme youth--my parents never missed the show but I only got to see it as a rare after-bedtime treat--and then she was buried in my subconscious. So when I pictured myself returning to the blog after basically three years, I pictured Mary driving into Minneapolis in the first-season credits. Totally normal.

Greetings, Dear Readers! (That's how I originally intended to begin this post). I'm back where I may possibly belong. The bright lights (and more than a dozen eyeballs) of Facebook lured me away. But Facebook, like Hollywood or Broadway or whatever already-labored metaphor we're using here, isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Especially lately, right?

So I really, really, am going to post every weekday at Watering Place. I used to tell my high school diary the same thing: "A whole bunch of stuff happened that I'm not going to write down, but from now on I will write here every day, Dear Diary!" But I'm grown up now, right? I often exercise, and rarely eat an entire bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Miniatures. This week. So I'll definitely keep to the following schedule:

Mondays I'll write about music. Not local, contemporary music--that's what CoolDad is for--but whatever I've been noodling around with on the piano. Sometimes the Great American Songbook, sometimes 70s pop, very sometimes classical. Like Mark Steyn's Song of the Week except Mark Steyn knows more about music and is brilliant. Uh, so not like that. Should be a great start!

Wednesdays I'm reviving the poetry podcast. Five minutes of reading and commentary to bring a little poetry into your life.

Thursdays I'll share a memory. My high school physics teacher used to offer this--"When-I-Was-A-Boy Stories"--and we always, always turned it down. Boy, do I have a great marketing sensibility or what?

Fridays I'm going to try recapping television. Right now my plan is "Riverdale," which is looking like a great new guilty pleasure. I can't resist a good teen soap. As I said above, I'm very grown up.

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About Me

I'm a mother at home with four children. I live in my beloved hometown, near an ocean, two rivers, and countless creeks. I'm working on my third YA novel--the first one is in the metaphorical drawer, and the second one is winging its way to agents as we speak.